


Too Much (HankCon)

by CrimsonFandomTrash



Series: Detroit: Become Human Stuff - HankCon & Reed900 Hell [7]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Anxious Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has Panic Attacks, Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Gen, Hank Anderson Swears, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 20:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15870858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonFandomTrash/pseuds/CrimsonFandomTrash
Summary: Connor was sure he'd go back to work at the DPD, a new year, with new possibilities, and everything would be rainbows and sunshine. A couple dead bodies and an asshole at work convinces him otherwise.





	Too Much (HankCon)

   At first, he tries to pretend it's fine. He justifies all the emotions he's feeling with logic and lets himself feel them, without letting anyone know he's feeling them. He's not trying to shut his emotions off, but he isn't exactly trying to share them with anyone, either. He would share them with Hank, but Hank hates talking about work, and these emotions crop up most commonly while they're on duty. So, he doesn't mention it to Hank. Then, more and more cases flood in-- more people decide they're not happy about androids being treated as people, or they flip out on the androids not really because of them being androids, but because human beings are cruel creatures, even to each other. Either way, as the week progresses, Connor and Hank are subject to more and more bodies, both human and android. 

   Hank doesn't seem to really care, which makes sense. He's been working on homicide for a long time, probably even longer than the nine years he's been a Lieutenant. The sight of a dead body doesn't phase him anymore like it had once upon a time. He's not bothered, and Connor does his best to pretend he's not bothered, either. He used to be able to kneel right in front of a dead body without any hang-ups, even used to be able to kill without feeling anything about it (and now he's imagining that Chloe back at Kamski's, kneeled in front of him on the plush carpet as Elijah hands him a gun.  _"It's up to you to answer that fascinating question, Connor."_

   And Hank did his best to try to stop him from pulling the trigger, but the only thing Connor had cared about back then was the investigation, finding Jericho, stopping the deviants, so he pulled the goddamn trigger, and blew her fucking brains out.  _"It's not a girl, Lieutenant. It was a machine that looked like a girl."_  And now he know's he was wrong).

   The thing is, looking at a dead body just isn't easy anymore, not now that he has a soul, at least. But he doesn't know anything that isn't the DPD. So he stays. He was built specifically for police work, and besides, Hank is there. Hank wouldn't be anywhere else he would go to work, and he couldn't not work because it would drive him crazy to sit at home alone all day with nothing to do.

   If Hank ever catches wind of what Connor is actually feeling, he never mentions it or does anything to imply that he knows, so Connor keeps pretending. The cases come in even quicker, and Connor starts to wonder if this is how humans feel when they're tired. To put it in a melodramatic way, Connor feels like... Well, like he's being held down by the weight of the world. Every new case, every new dead body just adds another fifty pounds onto the load, and he feels like he's going to give out any moment, drowning in the pressure to keep the facade up. At a certain point, he's more so acknowledging his feelings rather than experiencing them, and the load is just getting heavier and heavier. 

   He's entirely ready to go home for the weekend by the end of the third week into the new year. He glances nervously at the clock every thirty seconds, occupying himself with filing his reports for cases he and Hank had managed over the course of the day, the bright lights in the office burning his artificial eyes as one thought races through his mind over and over--  _just let it be five PM already._

   And then a stack of paperwork is dropped on his desk. He looks up from the ground, where his gaze has been fixated for a good five minutes before scowling. Gavin. "Hey, prick. Captain Fowler told me to drop this off at your desk." The detective announces with a sadistic grin. "Get a move on, you don't wanna be here all night, right?"

   He walks away, and Connor has to take a few simulated breaths to not get up from his chair and go punch him. He really didn't need this. Hank seems to notice, but he only stops lazily typing up the last of his work for the day for a moment before going back to work. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna go home without you, Con."

   Well, that much is at least reassuring. Connor feels like he's on autopilot, though. "Thank you, Lieutenant." He replies much more mechanically than usual. Hank doesn't notice.

   When Hank has finished his work for the day, and it's already five thirty, he gives Connor a pat on the back. "I'll wait in the car for ya. Take your time, buddy." Connor only gives a small nod, still working, and still a good fifteen to twenty minutes away from completion. Hank disappears to go wait in the car, he'll probably be blasting heavy metal music when Connor gets out, the android dully notes. 

   Despite the fact that androids are supposed to be invincible, supposed to be able to accomplish several things in a day with no fatigue, unlike humans, Connor is feeling very tired. The biocomponent that's basically the equivalent of his brain has been buzzing for days on end without stop, and the buzz of the bright white office lights don't help. Neither do the office lights themselves. He finally finishes his work and drops it off in Captain Fowler's office before deciding to go to the break room for some coffee, and a chance to calm himself down before going home with Hank. 

   The moment he sees Gavin in the break room, he wants to immediately leave, but then, Connor is just as entitled to the break room as Gavin is, so he steels himself, and gets ready for ugly confrontation as he walks over to the coffee machine. "Look, it's our friend the plastic detective! You get all your work done, tin can?"

   "Yes." He replies simply without looking at the human. 

   "Good, good, wouldn't wanna keep the old man waiting too long, right?" Connor decides to ignore him, leaning against the wall furthest from Gavin and drinking his coffee silently. "I didn't know tin cans could drink coffee."

 _I didn't know assholes could talk_ , Connor wants to say, but doesn't. He replies to Gavin mechanically, like he would have a few months ago. Like he did a few months ago. "All CyberLife androids have had several updates to increase their quality of life. The ability to eat was among those updates."

   Gavin continues to passive-aggressively question and insults him for the next few minutes, and Connor keeps replying stiffly and directly, robotic like he had before. He's finishing his coffee when Gavin makes another attempt to get under his synthetic skin. "Wow, even as a deviant, you still act like a useless piece of plastic... I guess some things never change."

   And that sentence works, because here's Gavin Reed, some asshole who has no impact in Connor's life apart from his time at work, trying to imply that he isn't any different as a deviant than he had been as a machine, which he knows isn't true. The weight that's been dragging him down all these weeks gets a hell of a lot heavier, and Connor decides he's had enough. There's no winning in this situation. He throws the coffee cup out and leaves before Gavin can say anything else to him. He just wants to go home. 

   He clocks out at the front desk, and then leaves the building, heading for the parking lot. It's snowing, and despite the fact that he shouldn't be able to feel the cold, he does, anyway. He doesn't need to breathe, but as his synthetic breathing program stops functioning, he feels like there's air caught in his throat. Right now isn't the time to be doing this, out in public, in front of everyone, so he pushes the feeling down, dully noting that his stress levels are pretty high; 65%. It doesn't ever usually reach that high, but lately...

   He doesn't finish the thought, apparently having run to Hank's car. He opens the door and settles into his usual seat on the passenger side, closing the door behind him, and buckling his seat belt. "You alright, Connor?"

   It takes a moment for him to register the question. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

   Hank doesn't push, and simply starts the car, turning on heavy metal music before driving away from the precinct. Connor does his best not to think, but his head betrays him. All he can do is picture that Chloe with a hole in the center of his skull, caused by him. The little girl and the deviant android falling off the roof to their deaths. Carlos Ortiz's android grabbing one of the officer's service guns and shooting himself because he had to reveal to the humans that the other android was hiding in the attic. So many androids in Jericho dying a horrible death because he had to go and expose their location. His head is spinning, and the only thing he can be grateful for right now is the fact that Hank doesn't try to hold out a conversation, given that his music is too loud to hold one, anyway. 

   And the car ride drags on. He pictures the deviant at Stratford Tower ripping out his thirium pump after Connor had done the same to him, and then remembers the deviant shooting himself in the head when Connor had attempted to rush him. Another person dead because of him. He remembers killing the other Connor model, and he remembers pointing a gun at Markus, and--

   And they're finally home. Hank parks the car and gets out, and Connor follows suit, trying his best to remain neutral, reminding himself that being neutral isn't human, reminding himself that he isn't human, overthinking everything as the weight continues to get heavier and heavier. They walk in the door, and Connor's aware of how stiffly and robotic his limbs are when he moves, tries to ignore it, fails. He closes the door behind them. "I don't have a dinner plan for tonight, so I'm going to order out. Is there anything you would like in particular?"

   "Pizza sounds good right about now." Hank replied, sitting on the couch as Sumo excitedly hopped up and laid his head on the lieutenant's lap. 

   Truth be told, Connor did have a dinner plan for tonight. He just really wasn't feeling up to it. He already knew what kind of pizza Hank usually ordered, so he didn't bother to ask, and called the pizza place. With his internal software, of course, driving home the fact that he wasn't a person. He ignored it. The conversation lasted longer than he would have liked, and finally, the person on the other end said that the pizza would arrive in forty-five minutes. Connor informed Hank, who reminded Connor that he heard the entire call, and Connor made up an excuse about going to go change his clothes. 

   His bedroom door closed behind him, and Connor didn't change his clothes. He sat down on his bed, looked down at the floor and stayed there for a while.  _Stupid, **stupid** , stupid,  **stupid** , stupid_\-- the word kept scrolling on and on in his program. There wasn't any reason for him to be feeling this way. He monitored his stress levels-- 70%. Something else popped up in his program as he scanned his internal systems. 

_**Probability**  of  **self-destructing** : Moderate_

   Those words made his stress level spike up, which just made him even more nervous because the higher his stress level, the more likely he was to self-destruct. He was suddenly aware of the weight of something else that wasn't life on his belt. He looked down to find the source, stress levels spiking even more when he'd found the source. His service gun. 

   He unholstered it and threw it across the room and it hit the wall with a  _BANG_. Tears started streaming down his face as he backed up against the headboard of his bed and curled up in on himself. He had to keep his hands over his mouth to refrain from screaming. The horrible weight had finally come crashing down on him. He couldn't breathe. The fact that he'd even considered--

   A few moments later, there was a knock at his door. "Connor? Is everything alright?" He couldn't answer, even though he'd uncovered his mouth with the intention of doing so. His vision blurred, his head spun around in circles. He still couldn't breathe, his artificial lungs stopping. His thirium pump was beating like it was about to jump out of his chest from his throat. He choked on a sob. Hank knocked again. "Connor, are you okay?"

 _Stupid, **stupid** , stupid_. The word flooded his blurred vision once again. He wanted to answer Hank, wanted to tell him he was alright, but even if he was able to speak, it still would have been a lie. Hank, however, didn't seem satisfied with the lack of response and opened the door. When he noticed Connor curled in on himself on his bed, he stilled. "Con...?"

   Connor hiccupped despite himself.  _ **Probability**  of  **self-destructing** : High_

 He curled more when Hank sat on the bed. He just wanted to disappear, and then the thought of disappearing made him scared. "Hey, Connor, just relax..." Hank said gently. 

   "I-I can't, I don't-" It was the most he seemed to be able to say. He wrapped his arms around himself tighter as his simulated breathing came back, shaky and quick.

   "Hey, look at me..." The older man said just as gently as before. Connor hesitantly looked up at Hank. "Do me a favor, look around, tell me three things you can see."

   Connor blinked tears from his eyes in confusion as his breath hitched, but tried his best to comply with Hank's request, anyway. "U-uh... M-My dog calendar..." He looked around again. "M-My desk... And someone's car p-parked outside..."

   "Now, tell me two things you can hear."

   "The cars outside, a-and your heartbeat..."

   "Now, tell me something you can touch."

   Connor looked around his immediate surroundings. "My bedsheets..."

   He blinked a couple times. Had... Hank done that on purpose? He felt calmer. Albeit, he was still really spooked, for no reason at all, but his stress levels were steadily dropping, and the probability of self-destructing was dropping, too. "What's got you on edge, Con?"

Connor swallowed a lump forming in his throat. "I-I don't know..."

   "Seems like you were having a panic attack..." Hank muttered. "Did something happen at work?"

   "I... I find it more difficult to look at dead bodies than I did before..." He replied honestly. "And G-Gavin implied that I still act very machine like... I guess it bothered me because I've been trying to be more human... But then when I feel more human, I'm upset, anyway..."

   "Do you want anything?"

   Connor sniffled. "A hug would be nice..."

   Hank leaned forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Connor. The android rested his head on the human's shoulder as Hank swayed them back and forth. Connor closed his eyes.  **Probability** _of_ **self-destructing** _: Low._ Right where it belonged. Hank cradled the back of his head with his hand, and Connor figured the same was true for him, too. 

   Connor had gotten over the whole ordeal, for the most part, when there was a knock at the door that Hank's human hearing hadn't sensed, but his android hearing had. "There was a knock at the door." He informed his human. They hadn't stopped hugging yet, Hank wanting to make sure Connor was alright. The older man grumbled. 

   "Come on, then, let's go eat." 

   Connor only nodded, and Hank stood, letting go of Connor in the process. With the hug gone, Connor stood and followed Hank like the poodle he undoubtedly was. 

  They ate dinner, and Connor couldn't deny that food made him feel better. Maybe this is what people meant when they said 'comfort food'. He didn't even need calories, and his 'tastebuds' weren't as strong as a human's, so really he didn't know why he kept his hunger settings on. "Con?"

   "Hm?" He hummed through a mouthful of cheese, sauce, and pepperonis. 

   "What was that loud sound before I came in?"

   Oh, that. Connor put his slice of pizza down on his plate and tapped his fingers on the table. "I... I was running diagnostics because I felt abnormal, and noticed that the probability of me self-destructing was high, so I threw my gun."

   Hank blinked a couple times. "Oh."

   "Deviants have a tendency to self-destruct when in stressful situations, and since all androids are deviant now, myself included, I was scared of making an irrational decision."

   The untold subtext, of course, was 'I didn't want to kill myself but I wanted to kill myself so I threw my weapon so I couldn't kill myself'. It made Hank kinda sick to his stomach. "So, uh... Work is hard for you?"

   Connor nodded. "I seem to be suffering from mild PTSD. All I can think about is all the people that ended up dying because of me... And seeing dead bodies every day doesn't help, I suppose."

   "Con, do you even want to be a cop?" The older man asked. Connor fidgetted with his hands. 

   "I... Don't know. Police work is all I've ever known, and I don't think I'd wanna work anywhere else, not without you."

   "Why's that?"

   " _You're_  all I've ever really known." If words could make a man's heart skip a beat, it would be those ones. Connor looked up from his plate and over at him. "I don't wanna work anywhere that you're not."

   Hank cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks heat up. "Connor, if police work is messin' with your head, you shouldn't do it anymore. We're always gonna be together at home."

   Connor seemed to shrink in on himself. "I don't even know what I'd want to do."

   "That's fine. We can figure that out later."

 

   


End file.
